


Boredom

by Veelez (Hyela)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abrupt Ending, Im shit at rating shit but it has sex in it :/, M/M, like theres a missing part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 04:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyela/pseuds/Veelez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a few perks to being an agile, powerful being. The downside would be that, after a while, in civilized society, it gets a little bit boring. Somehow, Chris Argent is not a boring person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boredom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homoeroticismforthewin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoeroticismforthewin/gifts).



> Chris/Peter  
> Rated M for teenage sex, and a tiny bit of 'sadism'. Also, messing with people’s age (Kate would have around 10 years on Derek). Blatant disregard for 90s vocabulary.  
> Alternative Canon, Teenage years

_Boredom: the desire for desires._  
~Leo Tolstoy

  
There were more than a few perks to being a born werewolf. The fast healing was quite neat, and so was being immune to most illnesses. The strength, the speed, the agility. The enhanced senses, allowing you to see clearer and further, to hear better, to smell everything, even what seemed to be odourless to simple humans, and to carry a sharp, reliable instinct. He also had a damn good memory.

  
There was also the natural poise. Sixteen years in, and his identity fitted him like a nice custom tailored suit. The human part of him was rarely ever in conflict with his wolfish part. None of the awkwardness of being a growing teenager, either physical or behavioural, stained him, not really. Full moons were hell, but remained tolerable with his pack to steady him. Most of the time, he just felt rather content with himself, floating in confidence wherever he wanted to go, as if he had all the time in the world. Nothing seemed like a big deal. Nothing could perturb his well-constructed daily routine.

Which meant that Peter was bored out of his mind.

He was too smart for high school and, as much as he loved basketball, way too good for his team. He was several steps ahead of any of the airheads that was supposed to be his comrades. He got along with his family, but he couldn’t spend all of his time with them; that would only make everyone feels cranky and trapped. Besides, they were all better at this than he was, so they felt no solidarity for his condition. Judith and Anne, who had dozens of friends, told him he simply had to much time on his hands, that he should get a job or a girlfriend before starting to set fire in garbage cans for fun. Thomas, as a loner, was more sympathetic, but he now spent all of his time with his wife, dead silent and listening to her endless blabber as if it was the greatest, most intellectually challenging monologues of modern days. Sophia was great, she really was, so was her old pack, but damn sometimes the verbal diarrhea was too much. The parents were workaholic and busy trying to fit in. Cousins were too old, and therefore pretentious; nephews were too young and therefore clingy.

He couldn’t believe it, but sometimes werewolves were even more boring than humans. No wonder they survived high school: they fitted right in, after years of trying to appear normal.

One day, he realized that his leg started to jump by itself during class, a sign of nervousness he never had before and that was rare among werewolves. He decided it was time to intervene before he either cracked and indeed set something on fire to feed the vindictiveness of his sisters, or feel his brain slowly degenerate and zombify over time.

He skipped the second period, ran home, and climbed on the wall on the side of the house where his uncle Daniel slept during the day.  
Dan and him had a deal: he could ‘steal’ the keys of the motorcycle while Dan was asleep. Even if Dan woke up, he would pretend not to, so if Peter’s parents noticed that both Peter and the moto were gone and asked questions, only one of them would get into trouble. In exchange, Peter had to run errands from time to time.  
So that’s what he did. He was going to take the motorcycle, go on the road and do everything on a whim today, regardless of the consequences. Fuck planning anything. Peter was sick of the predictable and the cautiousness.

***

After about twenty minutes out of Beacon Hills, turning on random roads and rolling faster and faster in order to cling to the fading adrenaline, Peter noticed a roadhouse on the side of the road. Ah? Weird. He didn’t think there were much of those around his hometown.

The place looked perfectly banal, with a large turned off neon sign on his front (Alstair’s Roadhouse), its wooden appearance and the few stereotypical pickups and motos stationed in front of it. Didn’t seem particularly popular. Which was why he had to stop. This kind of isolated middle-of-nowhere places were usually frequented by big tough guys who fancied a fight, no? And they weren’t police-friendly either. Peter thought that a good fight might decrease the tension that kept building in him. Might take care of his boredom, at least for a moment. Or maybe someone would have a good story to tell.

He parked his engine next to a truck and entered the building.

The place was as boring-looking on the inside as it was on the outside. It was rather empty decoration-wise. There was a bar with a grumpy middle-aged lady behind it. She was just standing there, arms crossed, staring right in front of her. She didn’t even look in his direction. Then, there were a few tables, a pool table and a fireplace. None of that was interesting. The people scattered here and there all looked like tired old men, gazing sleepily into their dishes or nursing a bear. Damn. He wouldn’t be able to pick a fight after all. They might even be the types to call the cops, or worst, _try to talks things out_. Offer him a beer out of pity. Meh.

Peter kept looking around desperately, but was already resigned to go back. Something caught his eye, though. The roadhouse had a bricked fireplace. Not that it was fascinating, but above it, there was this hunter thing, a stuffed animal head. He approached it and realized unhappily that it was a wolf, but there was something else about it, something a bit unsettling. Disturbing, even. The wolf’s head was too big and so were the bared teeth. The fur had an odd quality to it. It reminded him vaguely of... Peter held back a shudder, a bad feeling taking over him. He stared at it as if it could suddenly start to talk and tell him what the fuck was wrong with it, even though he most likely already knew. Still, he felt sparks of excitations pass in waves through his body. He had never met hunters before.

“Never seen one before?”

Peter had heard the footsteps, so he didn’t jump nor did he turn his head. He could almost feel the vibrant disappointment emanating from the person, which made him smirk. Taking pleasure in unbalancing someone showed a clear desire for power or attention, or both. He was still surprised, though, because the voice was youngish and female. 

“You’re not one of these vegan, greenpeace people, are you?” asked the voice mockingly.

At that, he put on his best charming smile and turned around. He was surprised, yet again, to find a young teenage girl staring back at him. He didn’t let it transpire on his face, however.

“Nah, I love good, big, rare _meat_.” he replied smoothly, smacking his lips on the last word.

The girl, a cute little blonde thing in a black top and tight jeans, grinned at him. She was younger than him, but her posture talked of a great self-assurance. She wasn’t nervous at all. A mix of intelligence and mischief sparkled in her eyes. A true trickster figure.

“But do you notice something’s strange with it? I can’t quite put my finger on it, but this wolf’s head seems a bit...” he trailed off, making himself sound unsure, “disconcerting. Any idea why?”

“Observant much? Mrs Alstair over here said it was a special breed of wolves. Bigger, meaner, smarter ones. She killed it on her trip in Alaska, can you believe it?” She smiled, all teeth. “My father is learning me how to shoot and hunt. Maybe I’ll catch one too, one of these days.”

‘Of course you will’ thought Peter, keeping the smile on. He didn’t utter it out loud, because then she’d think he was patronizing her and would get offended. Offending big, brainless brutes was one thing; offending some asshole hunter’s daughter was on a whole other level. Sure, it’d be interesting, but Peter trust the girl to be the type to exaggerate her payback.

“Why wolves?” asked Peter to humour the girl. Something unpleasant passed on her face.

“They’re beastly. The monsters in fairy tale. Predators too, which is cooler than deers or moose. I dunno. There’s also something elegant about them, like they’re hiding their true nature. Some myths make them to be nobles and intelligent, so they’re worth more. Although, if I could kill a bear, that would be nice too I guess.”

“You’re a very bloodthirsty person yourself, for someone who wants to kill bloodthirsty predators.” replied Peter. He could get behind that, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was a particular kind of wolf himself. Along with his family.

“Well, yeah, survival of the fittest and the need for dominance make humans a pretty violent animal, don’t you think?” As she said so, she strolled to him, balancing her hips in a calculated manner.

Peter didn’t know whether to whistle or scoff. This girl was the kind who gets her way by any means possible. What did she want was the question. No way she could smell the truth out of him, so....

“...but since society frowns upon direct, unjustified violence, and since it’s not profitable for most people anyway, we project it somewhere else! We purged it, then we make up a story to cover up how much we liked it. I’m Kate.”

She raised her hand and offered him a cheeky smile, like there was an in-joke in there somewhere, batting her eyelashes in an invitation.

“Peter,” he said, finally, shaking her hand, “How very honest of you. A fine and rare quality.” Thinking she was either trying to be ironic or more mature, he decided to up the game and brought her hand to his lips. He then turned his hand under hers and caressed her palm with his fingers as he let her go. Results were immediate. Her lips parted and her eyes widened in lust. She did not blush, nor did she tremble or step away in surprise. She even seemed to lean forward. What a precocious girl.

Then, her lips stretched a bit as she looked over his shoulder just as a hand fell on it. Peter jumped, alarmed, as he did not hear or smell anyone approach him. Fuck, that was careless!

It was a young man, perhaps a few years on him, short brown hair and stunning blue eyes, paler than his own. Stunning _angry_ blue eyes. At least, that suited him well enough. Peter got the impression that any strong, passionate emotion would.

“She’s fourteen. Back off.” the guy spat between his teeth. His whole body was tense and he was glaring at Peter in that funny way, like he knew him or something.  
Of course, Peter could never back off from an occasion to childishly push someone’s buttons, hunter or not, when they were being an ass. It was made worst by the fact that he came here exactly to do that. Perhaps he’d have his fight, after all, although the ugly feeling from the wolf’s head was still nagging him, urging him to leave it at that. Perhaps was it better to just go and put distance between him and these ‘surging out of nowhere’ people, who liked to hunt ‘wolves’ and creepily brag about it to newcomers.

He couldn’t do that. The girl had played him, being all flirty when she knew her brother (?) was around. If he stumbled out in fear, he’d appear weak, stupid and easily manipulable. Perhaps even like an easy target. It was playing with fire, but he could not help himself.

“Looked sixteen to twenty to me. Well-developed for her age, is she?” the hand on his shoulder gripped him tighter. He heard Kate giggled. “Oh, you’re the angry-touchy type, aren’t you? I can’t go anywhere if you keep me so close to you, pal. Although, honestly... I don’t mind being close to you.”

With that, he offered his best winning smile to Kate and leaned back, pressing himself against Mr-protective-brother. Kate gasped and uttered a nice little laugh. Her knight in shining armour glared at her, but did not try to push Peter off of him. Interesting.

“Kate, why don’t you just go back in the kitchen to help mom with the meat?” 

“That’s a little sexist, Chris.” Chris, then. Dully noted.

“It’s not. I have been doing your job since this morning while you were twirling around seeking trouble. It’s your turn. Only fair.”

“Can I bring him with me? He likes good _meat_.” she replied, the innuendo clear behind the word. Peter didn’t know if he could dislike her. She was smart and upfront. Still, he did not like being the butt of a joke, especially since _Peter_ was supposed to be the cunning one.

Kate gave him one last once-over, winked and trotted back where she came from, all ease and nonchalance. What a girl, though. None of it seemed like false bravado.

As she went behind the bar and through the kitchen’s door, Peter noticed how he and Chris started to get looks from some of the patrons. Their eyes were still dull and tired, their face bearing this calm inexpressiveness, but they were now paying attention. He could tell. The woman behind the bar counter was staring at them, frowny-face and all. This place was weirder than he thought.

Chris took his arm in a firm grip and pulled him towards the exit. Peter let him, curious about his intentions and, if he was frank, relieved to get out of there. Was he going to yell at him? Try to beat him up to teach him a lesson without disturbing anyone inside?

As it turned out, neither. He kept walking, dragging Peter with him in the woods behind the roadhouse. Again, Peter let him, getting excited. Was this Chris person actually going to try to murder him? Really? For merely pecking his sister’s hand? Didn’t they have that code? Shit. Maybe they were rogue hunters. In that case, he’d have to defend himself and run fast.

Chris smelled of anxiety, anger and fear. His facial expression was closed, only showing a bit of determination, and he was sweating and grinding his teeth. They walked for ten good minutes before he stopped, turned around and took Peter’s shoulders in his hands.

“Can you smell anyone?” he whispered hurriedly.

Ah shit.

“Well, you smell of bacon and of some obnoxious woman’s perfume. Your mom I presume. That job isn’t doing wonder for you, I’m afraid. Neither does the perfume.”

“Not me, idiot! Anyone else around here! Take a good sniff like the dog you are.”

So that confirmed it. These people, or a handful of them anyway, were hunters. The type with a bigger ambitions. Somehow, Chris had guessed his identity too, how he had no idea. He hadn’t been prudent. Of course, he left home with the intention of leaving prudence behind, but you don’t fuck with hunters. At least, they didn’t know his last name.

In a vain attempt to escape this, he gave Chris a confused look. “How am I supposed to—”

“Save your breath,” cut Chris derisively, “I know what you are. You kinda gave yourself away when you looked fascinated with the wolf. Your eyes glowed a little. You’re lucky you were back to the others.”

“If they did, how come nobody jumped me in there? Why didn’t you tell them anything.” scoffed Peter. His eyes did not glow. Did they?

“I’m jumping you right now, or so they think, and that’s more than enough” answered Chris. And for the first time, he smiled, half-conspiratorial, half-cocky. That put a light on his face, illuminated his pretty eyes, even though his heartbeat was still irregular, and his body still tense. “Besides, not all of the people inside are hunters. Now, do you smell Kate or anyone else?”

Peter quickly got off of Chris’s grasp and took a few steps back, then cleared his throat and positioned himself, ready to bolt or attack. He looked at Chris in the eyes and remained silent for a few seconds, testing him. Chris was obviously impatient, but he just crossed his arms and waited. He seemed genuine enough. His heart was really beating fast. Looks like he was afraid for Peter, or something. Well, then. Peter looked around, keeping an eye on Chris, and ‘took a sniff’ as instructed. Nothing but the woody odours, some woodland critters, flowers, Chris himself.... Peter looked back at Chris.

“No one’s there. Why? Want to take a shot by yourself? Perhaps that big head made you envious. Or maybe you were cursed by that love at first sight thing and now you could never hurt me.”

“Right,” Chris snorted, but he didn’t lose his smile. He just add teeth to it, making the resemblance with Kate a little clearer. “No. Hurting you would be like shooting fish in a barrel. No glory in mistreating a guy who nonchalantly and unawarely walks behind enemy lines. I pitied you.”

“Your little sister seemed eager to do something about me, though. You could have let her have her fun.” Peter answered, unimpressed.

“Kate? Kate doesn’t know. She was after... something else,” Chris muttered unhappily, “Besides, like I said, I pitied you.”

“Hunters don’t pity werewolves,” laughed Peter incredulously. There had to be something else. “We’re mindless beasts with fangs and we eat bunnies! We are ‘Fairy tales monsters’ and trophies.”

“But you’re fluffy and cute too.” replied Chris without missing a beat.

“So that’s why you didn’t push me away after I leaned on you!” gasped Peter, “You actually did fell for me at first sight! Is it because of my lovely eyes, or...?”

“Hey, you were the one talking about liking meat, weren’t you?”

“I bet you’re the type to wave yours around, hoping to collect the remains of your sister’s suitors.”

“I don’t need my sister to attract people.”

“No, you don’t.”

Chris just stared at him at that. Maybe Peter was being too salacious. Lacked subtlety. Perhaps he reminded the guy of his sister, flirting away outrageously with strangers without a care. Then, he realized that Chris’s hands were still on his shoulders, unmoving. He smiled.

“Does my knight in shining armour want a kiss, too?” he asked sweetly before leaning forward. Chris frowned and took a step back, letting go of Peter as if he had burned him. Peter playfully followed him, all swift and fluid in his movements. When he raised a hand towards Chris’s chest, though, a firm grip caught him and twisted his arm quickly, causing a stab of pain almost up to Peter’s shoulder. It went away as fast as it came, but he still yelped and pulled his arm back roughly, surprised. Chris laughed. A laugh as delightful as his sister’s, if a bit more loaded.

“Sensitive, aren’t you? A lesser werewolf would have turned though.”

Peter pursed his lips. Chris almost sounded disappointed. He seemed like the nail-biting, nagging worrier type, but curiosity was well-ingrained in him, that was for sure. Peter offered his hand again, teasingly.

“You want to see? You were very quick to notice my eyes, even though I’m fairly sure they didn’t gleam for too long. Is that something that interest you, Chris? My bestial side?”

“Right. I have a sister who’s acting too forward for her age. I know lots of guys who pretend to be beasts, and in the end, when I show them their place, they whimper like kicked puppies.”

Chris liked to play hard to get. He was also smug, which probably ran in the family, and didn’t like to show interest. Dully noted.

“I’m not a mere boy barely out of prepubescence. I’m the real deal. And it’ll take a lot to make me whimper, dear. But you are welcomed to try.”

Chris looked at Peter’s hand, considering it. He crossed his arms defensively before raising his gaze to meet Peter’s, defiantly. He didn’t say anything, though, probably unsure if admitting to anything would count as a defeat. Poor Chris. This was not a contest. Not one he could ever dream to win, anyway. But the guy was interesting enough.

Peter, his hand still hanging in the air, let his nails turn into claws. He did it slowly to show off the control he had, in order to inspire either fear or trust. Or both.  
Chris’s upper lip twitch and the corners of his mouth turned up a little. He was definitively captivated. ‘Pity me, my ass,’ thought Peter, ‘The guy got me out to see. He hasn’t seen a werewolf from that close just yet. And here I thought they specifically raised them to kill....’

“So you are not a rabid animal, you have control. Or you want me to think so, anyway. I don’t think that it makes you any less dangerous, though.” inquired Chris, still not taking the hand.

“You think well. But I can assure you that the cunning part of me is almost entirely human. I almost want to say that I have that in common with your lovely little—”

“Stop that,” cut Chris. He looked uneasy at the mention of his sister. “She... she plays around, but she is not that snide or mean. She is just a bored teenager.”

“So am I, so are you!” chanted Peter, all smile, his hand still in the air. “But ‘boredom is the root of all evil’, you know.”

Chris looked displeased at that, but clearly he was not in disagreement. He even ended up shrugging and taking Peter’s clawed hand in his, firmly. While doing so, he let his fingers pass on Peter’s palm, appreciating the hardened skin there. “Who said that?”

“Kierkegaard.” At Chris’s puzzled look, Peter didn’t know whether to blush or to roll his eyes. “Don’t bother, some reading I do on my spare time. You know, when I’m so extremely bored that philosophy seems like an entertaining alternative.”

“Oh.” Chris looked vaguely embarrassed. He did not think of Peter as an intellectual, most probably. “Reminded me of Oscar Wilde, somehow. You do seem like the type to appreciate Wilde.”

“Ha! I do from time to time. I could be the Henry Wotton to your Dorian Gray...” Chris winced, “...or to your Basil Hallward, if you prefer. Although, perhaps you like James Vane better? A bit of the three maybe?”

“You know, they all meet a sad fate.” replied Chris with an unimpressed tone. “Why not someone like... Edmond Dantès.”

“Dantès suffered a lot and lost a lot.”

“His story was grand, though.”

“But at what price? Would you really endure all of what he endured, and would you go to such lengths to get revenge? Would you board yourself on such an adventure to get back at life for taking what was rightfully yours?”

“Absolutely,” answered Chris, his eyes shining, “And I’d probably go further than he did.”

“So would I!” laughed Peter, “Let us never get in each other’s way again, then, unless we get so curious we’re ready to suffer the other’s wrath. I wouldn’t be opposed to get in your way in another fashion, though...”

He got another of these nice sounding laughs of Chris at that. The guy let go of Peter’s hand and leaned forward, suddenly abandoning all false pretenses. He put his hands on Peter’s hips, let them roam just shy of his rear. Peter thought Chris was going to kiss him, but he went for his ear instead. “I’d like to see you try,” he said in a low voice... before turning back and getting away from Peter. Damn. The return of Mister Hard-to-Get. He should have seen that coming.

Peter tired of this game of cat and mouse and went after Chris. In a second, he was before him, grabbing his face in his hands —one of them still inhuman— and kissing him brusquely. Chris immediately kissed back, his hands going back to Peter’s hips, and then to his ass, squeezing. They didn’t go into this gradually either: it was all tongue, and sucking, and nibbling —Chris got a bit tense when he felt Peter’s teeth, but it was from arousal according to the smell alone. Besides, if he had saw his eyes gleaming, then he knew Peter wasn’t an alpha. So Peter let himself bathe in the overflow of desire, confident that the guy wouldn’t just decide to stab him, and he listened to Chris’s increasing fast heartbeat.

He eventually had to lean back, a realization hitting him.

“Tut tut. I got the wrong impression about you, didn’t I? You are not shy. You’re the one who were playing with me.” Peter smiled, not bothered. Chris, trying to control his panting —probably because Peter didn’t pant— placed a kiss on his jaw. “You are not afraid of being too easy. You just like seeing people squirm.”  
A wave of uncertainty passed in Chris’s eyes. “When you put it like that, you make me sound like my sister. It’s more that...” he smiled, all sweet, “...I like your straining efforts to get to me. Aren’t you a little too careless, though? Could be a trap.”

“Please. You are genuinely head over heals for me. I can feel it.” Peter patted the bulge in Chris’s pants and was pleased when he got a brief moan. “That didn’t took much of an effort,” he added to save some face. Chris simply grin at him and shook his head.

Then he was roughly pulled by his jacket and shoved into a tree. And it was back to sloppy, lusty kisses, and Peter felt something triggered inside him. A newly bitten werewolf would have transformed by now. Peter has too much control over himself for that, but he still felt the ache, the heated sensation of wanting _to come out and play_. Chris was no little red riding hood, though. Peter actually had to fight for dominance, because Chris just kept pushing, and taking, and grabbing his arms, and placing his legs in unpractical positions to block him. Chris did not want to be dominated by a werewolf. Fair enough. Peter fancied himself a dangerous, scary, cuttingly efficient beast: not everyone could handle that. He thought he could just let Chris do what he wanted.

In fact, Peter wanted Chris to just do what _he wanted_. There was a jubilation to be had in watching this stranger passionately man-handling him, as though he was the one in sync with his animal side. There was certainly something exciting in the prospect of being taken by a hunter, or a hunter’s son, anyway. And getting away with it. Peter rejoiced in Chris’s act of rebellion. It made him feel like the accomplice of some sort of crime, although this might be a little melodramatic on his part.  
At that point in his inner musings, Chris murmured in his ear “Bite me...”

Peter shuddered.

He did as he was asked, but slowly, taking his sweet time to bare his teeth to Chris and show him their growing. He let his face stretch into something barely human. Then, in a flash, he was at Chris’s throat, biting to draw just a little blood. Just a bit. To _mark_ , he thought. He got a very nice moan, like a recompense. He sucked on the small wound, drawing another one out.

Chris took his face in his hands —there was a controlled trembling in them— and kissed him, biting his lips, sucking on his teeth. Peter shuddered again. He was completely enamoured with the attraction that Chris felt for his beastly nature. He let Chris turn him around. Soon, he was half bending, clutching the tree before him, waiting in anticipation as Chris unzipped his pants and took out his cock.

“I won’t hurt you, right?” he breathed out. Peter smirked over his shoulder.

“A little late to worry about that, no? What, are you saying you are willing to kill the mood just to go get some materials?”

“It’s never too late, I won’t do anything if—”

“Oh, darling, how sweet. Now, I’m a werewolf. I heal. Fast. So if you would stop taking me for some virgin little prey...” he arched his back and bumped his ass against Chris’s crotch, making him groan. “Besides, I like a like pain.”

It didn’t take more than this. Chris was on him again, one hand tightening his throat as a support, the other finding Peter’s opening. Ah. Wasn’t the first time he was doing this, it shows. It made Peter’s smile. And then Chris entered him.

The pain was both paralysing and exquisite for a few seconds. Peter felt his skin stretch and break; he felt the blood sliding down his anus and providing a sort of morbid lubricant for Chris. Peter indulged himself and his lover and moaned deeply.

Chris built a rhythm, tightening and loosening in turn his grip on Peter’s throat. At some point, he forced Peter to stand up straight, still pounding into him, and uttered, panting, “Do transform.”

Peter laughed shakily and obeyed, finalizing his beta form. Chris let go of his throat and hugged him from behind, his nails piercing the skin of his chest. He came while biting savagely on Peter’s shoulder. This made Peter want to howl with approval. Needless to say, he came soon after, victoriously.

***

About two decades later, it is Chris who wants Peter to do anything he wants to him. Anything. So long as it hurts, so long as it relieves him of the utter shame he feels at the thought of having been manipulated and easily lied to all these years by his own family. At the thought of having let behind this rebellious part of him, that doubting, resisting part of him that, in the end, made him a better person. The part of him that thought of Peter as dangerous, but worthy of respect, and not as a rabid dog. Instead, he contributed to make a rabid dog out of Peter by not supervising his sister, by lying for her, covering her; by letting his fear and contempt of his father tame him; by becoming a judgmental coward; by letting a psychopath go unpunished in the name of some suspect sense of justice. Chris needed to be punished. He needed to belong to someone, since he was obviously wrong thinking that he belonged to himself.

Peter, in his beastly grandeur, obliged him. Truth was, he still wanted Chris despite everything. Truth was he was afflicted by the both old and new striking boredom, the one that tended to make him go over the edge, looking for more. Vengeance wasn’t motivating him anymore, although resentment was still burning somewhere in him. Everything was burning. Desire, anger, hate... but they were burning so intensely that they left nothing to hold onto. Emptiness. Boredom.  
So when Peter nearly fucked Chris through the very bed he knew that his guilty hunter killed his wife in, he howled, not in victory, not with the sense of having punished someone who wronged him, but in relief of feeling something again if only for a moment.


End file.
